


Wolves and Lambs Look Not

by LowerEastSide



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU after OotP, Angst, Dark, Dark Draco Malfoy, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Draco Malfoy, POV First Person, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 15:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13883715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LowerEastSide/pseuds/LowerEastSide
Summary: "I perceive that goodness and justice have dwelt in your heart: we could not live together."





	Wolves and Lambs Look Not

**Author's Note:**

> Finally decided to polish this up and publish it. Thanks to Slytherin Mischief for the beta! Any remaining errors are my own.
> 
> A companion piece titled "Goodness and Justice Have Dwelt in Your Heart" was written by Violetclarity as part of H/D Remix 2018. I highly recommend reading it after this. Link at the end.

"I perceive that goodness and justice have dwelt in your heart: we could not live together. Now you are admiring my good looks which have bowled over more than one woman. But sooner or later you would regret having consecrated your love to me, for you do not know my soul. Not that I shall be unfaithful to you: she who devotes herself to me with so much abandon and trust — with the same trust and abandon do I devote myself to her. But get this into your head and never forget it: wolves and lambs look not on one another with gentle eyes.”

~ _Les Chants de Maldoror_ , Comte de Lautréamont

***

In the hallways of the Ministry, while backroom deals are being made, we see each other again. It has been three years since school, and you are looking fierce as ever. Probably here trying to convince the Minister of more dangers, to bully your way into the dark magic raids conducted by the Aurors. None of them have been successful for months; every house seems to have been warned and cleaned before law enforcement arrives.

Your friends and precious Order are being picked off slowly, one by one, and every lead seems to evaporate into thin air. Surely you can smell a conspiracy. Even you aren’t that stupid. You likely expect corruption in the DMLE, maybe even upper administration.

What you don’t know is the Minister himself is in our pocket, the culmination of a plot formed in my sixth year at Hogwarts, when Malfoy money freed my father and set us up as the perfect cover for the new Death Eater empire. The smartest thing the Dark Lord ever did was reconsider his plans for me, instead deciding to step back and allow us to practice our usual craft. Slytherins are better suited to whispers in the dark.

I catch sight of you storming down a corridor and in an instant I’m drawn into your orbit again. I missed our fights the last two years of school, when my eventual ascension into the halls of power necessitated I back off on juvenile antics and begin working behind the scenes. I can’t resist throwing a quip your way, about how useless you’ve proven yourself to be after Dumbledore - old, dead Dumbledore, brought down by one of our own - had such high hopes for you.

The pain blossoming on my cheekbone is the most exhilaration I’ve felt since I was sixteen.

I wonder what I must do to get you to touch me again.

***

Ministry functions are usually tedious, but this one is testing my limits. The canapes aren’t up to standard, the champagne is merely tolerable, and I am counting down the minutes before I can make my escape.

“I knew you’d be skulking in a corner somewhere around here, Malfoy,” says an angry voice from behind me. I turn, allowing a grin to form slowly on my face as I catch sight of your blazing green eyes. As soon as I admitted to myself how much I enjoy looking at you, I found some of your power over me vanished.

“Ah, Potter. Here to debase yourself by flinging punches at me again? Do allow me to finish my drink first.” You don’t look impressed. “I shouldn’t have hit you, Malfoy. I know you were only trying to get a rise out of me.”

“It’s frightfully easy.” I take a delicate sip from the flute in my hand. “If you always allow yourself to get so worked up, it’s no wonder you aren’t able to have an influence at the Ministry. You have no finesse.”

As much as my insults obviously bother you, I’m surprised to see you give my words some consideration. “I guess there is one thing I could learn from you, Malfoy. You definitely have arse-kissing down pat.”

“I wouldn’t call the subtle art of politics ‘arse-kissing,’ Potter, and I certainly wouldn’t teach it to you. You’d only use it against me. I can’t think of a piece of legislation my father has introduced that you haven’t opposed.”

You bristle at the mention of my father, as I knew you would. You are so predictable.

“Your father managed to weasel his way out of prison only to introduce anti-Muggleborn laws to the Wizengamot, of course I oppose him.”

“Hmm.” I have come to the bottom of my glass faster than expected, and signal a waiter for another. I see you hold a tumbler of Firewhisky, an uncouth drink for this sort of function, but I do wonder what you would be like drunk and with your guard down. I nod towards your glass and the waiter refills it as well.

For a moment, we stand in silence drinking, and I wonder why you haven't walked away. Perhaps I am the only person here you feel comfortable near, even if you don’t like me. All too soon, however, I have to leave your side.

“Do excuse me, Potter, I see someone whose arse needs kissing.” I can tell you want to say something else to me, but your mouth closes with the words unspoken, and you simply nod.

I fall asleep that night still feeling the heady fizz of champagne, and dream of your eyes.

***

I see you now at the Ministry more often than I ever did before, and I wonder if Granger has finally impressed upon you the importance of going through proper channels. Not that it will help you, in the end, but it is certainly more effective in the short-term than simply chasing the tails of Death Eaters as they gather power. Even with so many bribes and threats from my father and other rich Purebloods cycling around, there are still some officials who are sympathetic to you, and some who are simply awed by Harry Potter. More than once you have managed to stall us.

Each dinner party and interminable ceremony I attend is made richer by your presence. We converse with alcohol and sharp banter between us, and slowly the edges are dulled. You excite me to the point that I wish you weren’t who you are, that the Dark Lord doesn’t need to eventually off you, because I would try to seduce you to our way of thinking and use that fire for my own ends. Or simply to seduce you.

I no longer even try to hide my hungry stares, and I know you’ve noticed. Once at a medal pinning event - arranged by my father to commemorate a 90 year-old wizard for decades of service in the Department of Magical Cooperation, and mostly aimed at getting him to retire so our handpicked replacement can take office - I see your gaze land on my arse and linger.

You have no idea what you are doing, giving me an opening like that.

***

Two more months pass by, the heat between us growing unbearable, and we find ourselves at another soiree. We walk as we converse, with less bite in our words than ever, and eventually come to a narrow, secluded hallway. You fall silent when you see how far we are from the crowd and look at me nervously.

“We’re alone.”

“How observant. Are you worried I’ll try something on you, Potter?” Your eyes grow wide. “I think you’re still too much a Golden Boy for me to safely... hex.”

You definitely thought I meant something else. Dare I say you look disappointed? I am eager to continue teasing you, stringing you along; I know it can’t go anywhere but it brings me such pleasure. Few things do, now.

I have evidently forgotten your reputation for courage isn’t without merit, and find myself pressed against the wall, your eyes staring deeply into mine for just the barest moment.

And then I find myself being kissed within an inch of my life.

It’s a brutal locking of lips, and I immediately return it, biting and licking at your mouth. I’m not one to deny myself, and if you’re up for it, I am as well. You moan happily at my capitulation and yank at my robes. As soon as I feel your hand in my trousers I have to pull you away, loathe as I am to break contact.

“Not in a hallway, you brute.”

You catch your breath, and I see the realisation hit you - I haven’t turned you down, just requested a change of venue.

The feel of your hand in mine startles me. “Yours or mine, Malfoy?”

“Do you want to be caught with your pants down at the Manor?”

You frown. I love watching the gears turn in your head. “Mine then.” The sharp pull of Apparition hits and I find myself in a messy bedroom. Then your hand is back in my trousers and we don’t speak.

***

Fucking you is everything I ever dreamed of. You are loud and responsive, your hands map me like uncharted territory, your cock is soft and hard and hot all at once. I’ve never been so sated. The burning press of your prick inside me will be branded in my memory forever, and I know I will have to double down on my Occulumency to hide this from the Dark Lord. But even if I were to be found out, I would simply be ridiculed for taking it; a Malfoy isn’t supposed to bend over, after all. It’s no crime to simply fuck Harry Potter, though. Next time I’ll just have to give it to you.

***

Next time comes sooner than I expected. I honestly thought you would be angry with yourself for losing control with the enemy like that. Do you not consider me the enemy anymore? I’ve never truly done anything beyond schoolyard bullying to you, after all. Everything else has been within the confines of the law, in the carefully regulated dance of the Ministry. You can hate me for that, I suppose, but it hardly makes me your enemy the way my father is.

It takes me a while, but after several months of heated sex I realise something. You fuck me with fire, with vigor, with reckless abandon, but never with hate. Not for me or for yourself. Have you learned what I already knew, that such pleasures are separate from the day-to-day business of being Malfoy and Potter?

Once while buried deep inside you, I lean down and whisper, “We deserve this.” Later, I think about that, and am astounded by how much I really believe it. Neither of us asked to be born on opposite sides of a coming war. I’m not against the world The Dark Lord has planned. But the fact remains that I never chose it. It was chosen for me. And you, you are the “Chosen One,” with even fewer options. So if we want to enjoy ourselves in the meantime, what could be wrong with that?

***

Six months into our affair, several laws have been passed restricting Muggleborn and Creature access to various aspects of Wizardom. I’ve seen you shouting in the courts, and storming through the Ministry. I find myself entranced with your passion outside the bedroom as well as within, even if I don’t agree with you. Begrudgingly, I also admire your ability to continue fighting, even as tragedy blooms around you. Just recently the werewolf who taught us in third year was killed while resisting arrest. I know you were close to him, and expect that possibly a loss this dear will remind you of my allegiances, but at 5pm you are waiting outside my office door as usual.

It’s slower tonight, and you ride me almost gently. After we’ve both come you lay over me and stroke my face.

“Life is too short.”

“Not enough time for you to enjoy my body as often as you like?” I joke, trying to lighten the somber mood that has descended on the bedroom.

You don’t take the bait. “You know what I mean. Why do we all have to fight? Can’t we just be happy? I just want to go away and be happy with you.”

An unexpected feeling comes over me. I’d never throw away my life for you; there is no one I care about more than myself, and I’d never betray my family. I don’t even want to. But everything about you is so wonderful, your fire burns so brightly, that I am compelled to say three words I thought I’d never say to anyone.

“I love you.”

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’ve been suppressing my emotions for so long that I’m mistaking desire for love. I’ve never loved anyone before, after all. And you are going to die someday, if everything goes according to the Dark Lord’s plans. But the joy on your face after I tell you is worth the questions in my heart. You say those words back, and I am content for the time.

***

It’s in your nature to try to change the world to suit you, so I don’t lose my temper the one and only time you ask me to run away with you. You don’t even mean it, I can tell. At least not for yourself. But you’d like to keep me away from harsh reality.

“What we have works, Potter. We do what we have to, and then we have each other.”

“You make us sound so casual, and not like…” You don’t know the word to use. I do. It is an old fashioned one.

“Lovers. And we are excellent as lovers. But we could not live together.”

You don’t argue with me, and I think you understand.

***

The Order have become underground terrorists and now raid the houses of those they suspect of working with the Death Eaters on their own. Like so many resistance forces before them, they have adopted the ways of the enemy and turned to darker curses, including Unforgivables. They disrupt several rituals and steal numerous artifacts before the Dark Lord decides that his power is consolidated enough, and it is time to stop playing around and take you out. The Order must have an informant of some kind, because one day you are in bed with me and the next you are gone into hiding. I don’t see you for weeks.

When you finally turn up again, it is in chains at Malfoy Manor.

Amycus Carrow is cackling over your prone form. “You’re in luck, Potter, that our Lord has gone to the continent and will take some time to return. You have about an hour to live rather than minutes. Although I can’t wait to drag out your death.”

He glares at me. “I have to call for our Lord. You can take him to the dungeon?”

I’m not saying goodbye in a dungeon. And I'm not stupid - this is going to be goodbye. “I should think many of us would like to see Potter off. The dining room would be more appropriate.”

He strides off, probably to find his sister, and I turn to you. I drink you in, looking my last. The defiance in your eyes is stunning. The look of relief that falls across your face as soon as Amycus is far away is less so.

“Thank god it's you. Can you take these off? We don't have much time to get out.”

“We aren't going anywhere.”

“Can you stay here after freeing me? Won't they suspect?”

You are more naïve than I expected and I tell you so.

“I don't understand.”

“Don't you? You know it's death for me if you escape.”

“I do know, that's why you have to come with me.”

“Potter, look around you for once. This is a war of attrition and your side is losing. Do you really expect me to throw away everything I've worked for to go on the run with you for a brief time?”

Realisation dawns upon you. “You're not going to let me go.”

“No. I'm not.”

Your fury is lovely, and I wish you'd allow me to kiss you now. It would be a kiss full of rage, a beautiful disaster. Even with death looming near I'm growing hard at the thought of it.

“The Order has a tracking spell on me. If they beat Voldemort here, they'll kill you. They'll see me in chains at your feet and shoot first with no question.”

“At least it will be over quickly. If I free you, I won't get that.”

“Let me go, Draco. We’ll make my escape look like an accident, make it seem like you weren’t even here.”

Even as desperate as you are, you don't beg me, and I adore that. You ask for release, demand it even, but you don't plead for your life. It's a pity you didn't leave the country to live out a quiet life away from this, but then you wouldn't be you.

“I’m not willing to die like that for you, Potter.”

“Like what?”

“Tortured. Driven into madness before being bled like a pig, probably fed to that snake. No, we are going to wait. If my lot get here first, I’ll be fine. If yours do, it will be over quickly at least.”

You blanch. It’s not attractive. “If your lot get here first, _I_ won’t be fine at all.”

“No, I rather think you won’t. If you’d like to speed things along at any point, simply insult me like when we were in school. I think I’ll be forgiven for using a _Diffindo_ on you in a vengeful rage. I’ll aim for your neck. I imagine you’d prefer to go like that instead of _Crucio_ -ed until you bite your tongue off.” It's the most mercy I can allow you, and part of me finds it almost romantic.

You sink to the floor, chains clinking, with a resigned look. “I can’t believe I ever thought you loved me.”

That hurts, as much as anything can at this point. I thought you knew me, I thought you understood that I can love you and still see this through.

“Of course I loved you, Harry. I'll never touch another man as long as I live. Even if that's less than a day.” It’s true. If I survive this, I’ll simply go on to marry a Pureblood witch and continue the Malfoy line. I’ve definitely expended any love I may have room for on you and you alone.

“You didn't really think this could have another ending, did you?”

The look on your face tells me you’d hoped it could. It’s the first time since we began this that you disappoint me.

***

We stare each other down. I am memorising every detail about you. Are you doing the same?

There are noises in the hall.

***

As the door bursts in, a small, barely perceptible part of me does hope it is the Order. I really don’t want to see you destroyed before me, after all. I wish you were just far away. But the larger part of me is self-preservation, and I resist the urge to stamp like a child when I see Weasley and Mad-Eye Moody on the other side of the broken door.

Not fair, not fair.

Weasley gets off a quick unbinding spell aimed at your chains, and I spin around toward the window. I don’t know where I think I’m going. It’s the useless act of someone who remains a coward to the bitter end, and I hear the Unforgivable roll off Mad-Eye’s lips behind me.

I somehow always knew I would die alone. Yes, you are here, but the distance between us is vast, larger than just this room, larger than an ocean. Even as green light fills my vision, even as I see you reach toward me in a futile gesture (and you will run to catch my falling body, won’t you, you hopeless romantic,) we are apart.

But as I told you.

We could not live together.

**Author's Note:**

> For Harry's POV on all this, please read [Goodness and Justice Have Dwelt in Your Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14690064) by [ Violetclarity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetclarity/pseuds/violetclarity)
> 
> Come visit me on [Tumblr!](https://lower-east-side.tumblr.com/)  
>    
> Someday I will decide on a better section divider than asterisks. Today is not that day.


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